


Rest Stop

by Petronia



Series: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure stories [4]
Category: JoJo no Kimyouna Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-17
Updated: 2007-01-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petronia/pseuds/Petronia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Trish was kidnapped before Bruno's group was assigned to protect her, and they're ordered to assist Doppio in recovering her instead. </p>
<p>(I've always thought of Doppio as the viewpoint character in his own M. Night Shyamalan movie.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest Stop

The first thing I did was wash my hands twice, with soap, scrubbing between my fingers until they reddened - it made no difference, of course, but I felt better for it. Then I splashed my face with cold water. It dripped into my eyes; I ran the tap, gripped the edge of the sink and let it take my weight. My hands had begun to shake.

I'd seen a video installation, once, of a still-life tableau – flowers, fresh fruit, a dead hare suspended by its hind legs – that had been filmed continuously for six months. The replay was on fast forward, revisiting the stages of decomposition in a matter of seconds. Organic matter darkened, bloated then withered, squirming with an internal storm of maggots and falling from the bone; five minutes later all that remained on the table and wall was a spreading stain. That was how Illusio had died: on fast forward.

_It'll pass,_ I told myself. Just a nervous reaction. _How are you going to rescue the Boss's daughter if you keep flaking out this way?_

I stuck my wrists under the tap, and it helped some.

My head was starting to hurt.

Eventually I became aware that a phone was ringing, insistently, over the sound of running water. I dried my face on my sleeve and looked around, blankly.

It was a late-model handset, lying on the windowsill in between two wrapped rolls of toilet paper. I must have stared at it for nearly a minute before I realized what I was seeing and stumbled over to pick up the call.

"Hello?"

"Sicily," said the low, familiar voice, a thread of reassurance. I exhaled in relief and leant back against the wall, keeping the handset propped against my ear.

"Boss..."

"The assassins have questioned her by now: it's clear from their movements. They're no longer travelling toward Venice. Do you understand, Doppio? You and Buccellati's team must head for Sicily, and arrive before they do. You must lay a trap."

"But..." Why Sicily? He would not tell me, I knew. _Trust and obedience, Doppio._ "...How do I explain the change to Buccellati? My phone was broken, on the train, and – they're not sure of me, sir. I can't blame them, it's their job to be suspicious. If you would only speak to—"

"No." Migraine stabbed at me as if in emphasis. I bit my lip to ward off nausea. "You are the only one whom I trust, my Doppio. Only you may hear my voice. You must—"

"Doppio?"

Giorno had come into the WC. His eyes met mine, a brief, startled instant before my body reacted faster than thought. I dived into one of the stalls, near-slamming the door behind me.

"You—"

"I'm all right!" I called out, hoping the note of panic was not too evident. "I just - I'll be out in a minute!"

Silence, then footsteps that stopped before my stall. My heart thudded in my chest.

Giorno's voice, when it came, was hesitant. "Are you sure? You're not... bleeding or anything? If you're hurt I can take a—"

"No! No, I'm fine really. I just, um." Had Giorno caught sight of the handset? Did he suspect? No directives were forthcoming; the Boss was silent, only the sound of quiet breathing emanating from the receiver.

Or was that me? I couldn't tell.

"I need a minute to myself, that's all," I said finally. "I didn't expect Purple Haze would... I'm sorry."

"Ah," said Giorno, and there was a pause. I fancied I could hear him beginning to say something, then think better of it.

"I'll let you have some privacy, then," he said, and the footsteps moved away, toward the sink and urinals. I reached behind me and flushed the toilet, to stop myself from listening.

"Beware of that one," the Boss said, perfectly clear despite the water-noise.

"Sir...?" I whispered.

"He is young and inexperienced, but keeps his own counsel. He is new to the team and I do not trust him. You must keep a close watch."

"I... I will." Giorno had saved my life back there – had saved all our lives. But I had to trust the Boss.

"Sicily," said the Boss. "Time is imperative."

***

 

"Oh, hey," said Mista when Giorno and I returned to the car, "thanks for bringing the toilet paper. Come in handy next time somebody bleeds all over the place." He shot a dirty look at Narancia, who retaliated with a rude hand gesture.

I handed the roll to him and slid into the back seat. When had I thought to grab such a thing? It must have been subconscious.

"There's been a change of plans," I said.

**Author's Note:**

> The contemporary art piece to which Doppio refers is my garbled memory of Sam Taylor-Wood's _A Little Death_ (2002).


End file.
